lies
by milgarion
Summary: “Don’t leave me.” She choked sobbing breathes heating the space between her mouth and his body. “Please don’t leave me.”
1. Chapter 1

_**this story is for Adrienne, the best friend anyone could ever had. she was the one who brought out the artist in me and asked me to carry on in her name. **_

_**for those who did not know her check out her story "At the end of all things", (still on my/her profile) and i dare you not to be moved by it.**_

_**for Addy.**_

She's never been so terrified, with the sun beating down on her back and the smell of dust and fumes thick at the back of her throat, hair matted from where she'd pushed it back from her face with bloodied fingers.

She looked at her hands now, at where they pressed against his stomach, blood welling thick and fast between them, spilling over already soaked cloth to drip and pool on the hot tarmac. She looked at his hands covering her own, the skin covering his knuckles grazed and pulled back. She looked at the girl crying uncontrollably on the kerb, wrapped in her mother's arms.

She looked at everything, so she didn't have to look at his face. Agony had dulled his eyes and unconscious tears had escaped, trailing glistening patterns on his face that reflected the summer sun back at her. There was nothing she could do to hold back her own.

She shifted, pressing more firmly against the open wound, not knowing if she was doing more harm than good, not caring about the rough surface of the road that tore at her knees. She felt his body tense under her hands; his head arcing back as he gritted his teeth, a minute sound of pain escaping.

She was aware of them, standing and staring, doing what everyone did. She wanted to scream at them, to lash out, but at the same time she needed them here, with their hands over their mouths, too shocked to look away.

"Rose."

Her name shouldn't sound like that, spoken with such pain. She shook her head, daring to look up at his face to see if he had watched her do it.

"Don't speak." Her own voice was thick.

His face tense, pulling at the cut above his eye. "I'm sorry." He gasped, his breathing shallow and pained.

"No." she said, not entirely sure what she was denying.

"Rose…" He said again, his fingers tightening on hers.

"Don't." she looked at him then, at his beautiful face white with agony, and his fathomless eyes dark with pain. "It will be okay." She said softly, an odd acceptance to her tone. The meaning was lost on the crowd, but not on him.

"No." he tried to shake his head but was stopped when she rested a hand on his cheek, fresh blood smearing across his skin as she tried to soothe him. She was whispering and muttering to him now, hurried words of 'it will be okay' and 'don't worry, I'm here', but no matter what she said she could not dispel the pain. It was a different pain, not caused by the tearing of flesh with metal, a pain she didn't understand, until he opened his eyes, a look of deep unending regret.

"I lied." He whispered.

Roses mind faltered, her brow creased. "What?"

"I lied." He said again, eyes closing for a moment as a fresh wave of pain seemed to shake him. He looked up at her imploringly. "This is my last."

All thought for Rose stuttered and stopped. He wasn't making sense. She shook her head. "I don't…" she began, but stopped. And suddenly eternity spread out beneath her, her heart and stomach dropping into its limitless depths. "No." she whispered, horror prevalent in her choked voice.

"I'm sorry." And she could tell that he knew she understood.

She didn't understand. Why had he lied, he didn't need to lie, not to her, his Rose. Why lie to her about this, why promise forever when …

"I don't understand." She whispered brokenly, throat clenching around her emotion.

And amongst it all, within the blood, and dust and summer heat, he smiled, a simple smile that took her breath away. "I didn't want you to worry." He said softly. He raised his hand so it could touch her face, fingertips tracing her cheek and smudging deep crimson across her pale skin, thin rivers of it dripped from his palm, curled around his wrist and snaked in new paths across the grazed and unmarred skin of his arm where it ended, soaking into his crisp white shirt where the sleeve had been rolled up. It had been a warm day, and he hadn't worn his jacket.

"No." she was denying him again, muttering the word over and over again as her eyes pressed closed, hot tears washing her cheeks and washing at the blood, his blood. Her other arm came up, capturing his hand and pressing it to her face, her grip tight and manic as she continued to deny. If she held on…

"You said…" she said, her words lost as she turned her face into his hand. "You said forever."

She opened her eyes, his face a blur before more tears fell.

And he was crying too, a slow steady stream of tears as he gazed at her. "I'm sorry." He said again, the words barely reaching her ears. "I'm so sorry." His breath caught, "I…" his fingers flexed against her cheek, stroking her face as much as her hold would allow, his eyes mapped her face, taking everything in, the way she cried, the way the breezed toyed with her hair, the patterns of tears and blood mixing on her skin, the way she looked at him. He moved his hand slightly, and she let him go just enough for him to run his thumb along the swell of her lips, lingering at the corner of her mouth. "I love you." He whispered, the full meaning in the depths of his eyes. "I should have told you sooner."

Rose could feel her chest heave and struggled to calm herself, but it was hard to ignore, hard to forget what was happening, that he had lied and this was the last time, for all those years planned with him to come down to this. He had told her they had time, all of time, and she had believed him, because he was her Doctor. But instead he was here, body broken and mind alive, such a terrifying place to be.

"I knew." She said softly, and she smiled faintly at him, wishing on all that was dear that they were somewhere else, or that it was a dream, a nightmare, but the ache in her chest let her know it was real. It was the end. "I love you too." She struggled to say it, to keep the hysteria inside and stay calm just now, just for him, until the end. But it tore away inside her, caused her breath to hitch, her body to shake and the tears to fall. "I love you too." She muttered brokenly, body curling in on it's self as she broke down, her head coming to rest briefly on his chest, his hand moving to push his fingers into her air, holding her against him as she cried.

She pressed her face into his shirt, letting it soak up her tears and feeling the heat of his skin beneath, the sluggish beat of slowing blood. She reached out and grasped at his shoulder, pulling herself further into him, twisting and winding the cloth taut in her hand. "Don't leave me." She choked; sobbing breathes heating the space between her mouth and his body. "Please don't leave me."

She could feel him breathing, a slow, shallow, laboured sound and she ached for him.

"Rose." The hand in her hair shifted and moved, guiding her so that she looked at him, his face calmer now. Her hand was till against his cheek, the blood between their skin keeping them together. "Rose…" he said again, his voice breaking in a way that was so unlike him, he searched her eyes again, stripping her bear and leaving her vulnerable, even now. "Kiss me."

So many times had Rose wanted to hear those words, so often she had wanted to say them herself. But not like this, not with death and despair creeping upon them with each excruciating second that passed them by, time suddenly so precious now. But she could never refuse, not him, not her Doctor. So she leaned forward, her hair drifting along his chest where her hand tightened further into his shirt, making his body lean towards her. And their breath met in the air between them and tumbled over their skin, making the moment so impossibly real, and despite the blood on her lips, and the way her hair stuck to his hand and face, she kissed him. His lips were dry, but they were soon beyond that. It was slow and it was unbearable painful, the way he opened up to her, for her to breathe his dying breaths and kiss his pain away. His lashes wet against her cheek as his eyes drifted closed. His arm came up to hold her, to brand with searing heat against her shoulder as he pulled her to him, giving himself up entirely.

And they kissed, as they should have done so very long ago, and with the knowledge that this would only ever be it, their first and last. She tipped his head, pressing again and with renewed vigour, oblivious to the crowd who witnessed them. This was all she would ever have, and the very real terror that clawed at her chest of knowing that made it so much more desperate.

But it was beautiful, which made it all the more heartbreaking, the way he matched her perfectly, lips and tongue meeting her own in such splendoured, earth shattering harmony, making her regret the lost time all the more. And so she kissed him goodbye, and stroked his face, for as long as he needed her. And she ignored the way his hand shook as he held it against the nape of her neck, or the way his body trembled and his pulse slowed beneath her hand, or how he needed fewer and fewer breaths, until he slowed, bestowing upon her such light and gentle kisses that made her eyes tear again. And he opened his eyes and looked up at her, a strange light within them as he kissed her one last time and whispered to her "I'm sorry."

And she would not look away, not move her gaze from his as she watched as the light faded and his eyes dimmed, his hand sliding from it place on her neck to fall and lay motionless at his side and slowly, inevitably, his eyes closed, and she felt once more and for the last time, his breath upon her face.

Her Doctor.

She wished she had never asked to come home, to catch up with her mum. She wished she had never suggested going for a walk. She wished they had gone to the other park instead of this one. And she wished more than anything that the little girl had not let go of her mothers hand to follow the path of her lost balloon. And she wished that as time went by she could forget the sight of him running, one arm caught around her small frame as he turned her away from the car, knocking her forcefully into the arms of her frantic mother.

"Come on lass." A hand touched her shoulder, hesitant, afraid to touch something so raw. "Come away now, the ambulance is here."

She could see the faint change in colour on his pale face as the lights flashed, not that they could do anything now. So with a last touch to his face, a press of lips to his, she unfolded from where she had been kneeling as brightly uniformed paramedics swarmed around him. She was drawn away by the hand on her shoulder, her face turning not being able to bear looking any more. At her poor Doctor, who defied time and showed her the stars, who saved lives and ended them.

She wiped at her tears and looked up at the crowd, at the man by her side and their pitying stares and horrified tears. They were talking to her, trying to touch her. But she couldn't hear, could only hear his words, his last words, could still feel his touch, could feel him under hers. She could still taste him, warm copper melting into her tongue to forever remind her of him whenever she tasted blood.

She stood and waited, for the inevitable, the agonizing crash that would fall upon her, bringing her to her knees in a furious maelstrom of agony and heartbreak. She raised her hands to her face and waited for it to come, listening to the sounds of the crew working behind her, to the soft voices of trained professionals as they tended to him, replacing her touch with theirs.

And she waited, and waited a terrible, agonizing lifetime until she heard it, such impossibility, and with such hope.

"We have a pulse."


	2. Chapter 2

She sat shivering on the hard plastic chair, a cup of tea cold and forgotten at her feet. She remembered now why she hated these places. The impersonal walls, the low thrum of voices and machines and the overall sense of despair. Looking around her, she could see others like herself, some sat and read as though they had no care in the world, others chewed on their nails or ran hands through their hair. Some spent fifteen minutes at the coffee machine trying to decide what they wanted before breaking down into tears. Rose just sat, her eyes vacant as she fought valiantly to quash any sense of misguided hope that threatened to reach her heart.

She hadn't been there long, no more than a couple of hours whilst the nurses looked her over, wrapped her in a blanket and took the phone from her when it became obvious that she was in no state to talk to her mum. She'd gone into the reception to wait for them, her mum and Mickey, a nurse had helped her out, a hand on her arm and made sure she was settled before bringing her the tea. But she couldn't drink it. It reminded her of him.

She stared around her with displacement, wondering how she had ended up here, disjointed and alone. The uncertainty was killing her.

She had asked the necessary questions, as they had done with her, giving them as much information as she could and fudging a few facts as well. Yes, she was his next of kin. No, it was not wise to give him penicillin, and just for the record, he has a rare genetic condition. That had raised eyebrows, but this was the NHS, they weren't likely to take him away.

She shivered and pulled the blanket further round her. Shock, the nurse had said, which was understandable apparently. After going through something like that.

Rose closed her eyes, burying her chin in the blanket. She could almost pretend….pretend that it was his shirt she was pressing her face against, that it was cotton instead of wool, and she could almost smell him, taste him. The urge to bite her own tongue was overwhelming, just to relive the tang of copper and iron from when he kissed her.

And wasn't it so unfair, for something so needed and desired to have happened at long last, and with such horrifying clarity. His blood was still staining the creases of her hands despite the nurse's best efforts to wash it off. Her cloths and hair were stiff with it. They had offered her clothes, something cleaner to wear, but she had refused, it seemed like an insult, to cast them away because they were suffused with his blood. Perhaps that was why they had given her the blanket, to hide her from the curious eyes, and save people's nerves. Because she did look a mess, she had caught sight of herself in the reflection of a window. Eyes swollen and red, hair streaked brown and red, smudges still left on her face, and her clothes…..her clothes were from the pages of a horror novel, twisted and creased, stained beyond repair and with the shockingly personal sight of a hand print on her right shoulder from where he had held her. Held her to him.

Her feet began to itch so she got up, adjusting the blanket, covering herself, but it was no use. Everyone who looked at her could see….see straight through to the broken heart and impossible hurt that showed visibly on her face. Unable to stand there any longer she moved towards the doors. They hissed open, replacing the clinical air with that of a warm British summer evening, the last of the sun hanging thickly in the air, clinging to orange clouds and purple sky.

She stood there a while staring up at the sky, at Polaris, she knew that star, knew it from school, from the days when kids wanted to be astronauts. And he had taken her there, not that there were any habitable planets, but more because she had asked, and he had said yes, just so she could say she'd been.

She felt her eyes begin to water, amazed that she had any tears left, or maybe it was because of her upward gaze and the warm dry breeze.

She was distracted by a small movement to her side, a middle aged man waving a packet of cigarettes at her, one eyebrow raised. "You look like you could do with one." He said, offering the pack again.

Rose hadn't smoked since she was seventeen, when her mum had found her hanging out the window, on the phone to shareen. She had thought herself too old for a slap, but she'd been proved wrong. Another pang in her chest.

Instead, she took one, holding it carefully between her dry lips as she man lit it for her. The acrid taste burning away the last lingering traces of his kiss, replacing it with bitter ash. The smoke burned her lungs, but it served as a convenient pain to mask the one already in her chest.

"You look like you should be in there yourself." He said, pocketing the lighter after sparking up his own ad looking her over. "You alright."

She almost winced at the question, but it didn't sound like the empty tone that people often used, people who asked but didn't really care about the answer. She took a drag and inhaled shakily, "No." She whispered, blowing the smoke out to mingle with the already stifling air.

"Something bad then." The man said with sympathy, watching her as she smoked, the blanket slipping each time she raised the cigarette to her mouth, revealing an expanse of blood soaked t shirt underneath.

Rose nodded, her face suddenly falling, agony and despair combining to create the epitome of heartbreak on her face, before she forced herself to right it. "Yeah…..it was bad." She muttered, her voice hoarse and choked.

They stood in silence for a while, Rose watching intently at the flare of heat as she sucked on the cigarette, taking the last drag and putting it out. Taking another when she was offered one.

"Husband?" The man asked quietly, softly as he provided her with a light.

Rose nearly laughed, the idea of the Doctor as a married man was laughable even to her. "No." she said, an almost smile on her face, remembering the feel of him against her, his hand on her face, fingers carding through her hair to better gain purchase. "We…He…I don't know what we were." She said, the smile fading as she looked at him.

"Were?"

She looked down at the ground, at her scuffed shoes and grazed knees. "They're trying to save him." She said, such lack of hope in her voice was painful even to this stranger. She felt a hand on her arm, a rough squeeze.

"Don't worry too much miss, they can do wonders these days." He said, his voice encouraging.

She smiled, but it was more for him than for herself. She took another drag of her cigarette and watched as he put his out, barely smoked. She shook her head, waking up. "Why are you here then?" she asked, it was only fair.

"Me?" the man said, looking up at her, hand brushing the front of his jumper, he wore a bittersweet smile and looked up at the building. He walked towards its doors and the clinical wastes beyond, turning slightly as he went and looked at her. "My son just died." And with that he was gone.

Her mum and Mickey showed up not long after, whilst she was still outside, she could hear Mickey's van as it turned into the car park.

They ran towards her, eyes wide and fearful for her and she tried to stay composed, but the sight of her mum, arms open ready for her made her eyes burn and weep, allowing herself to be caught up in a crushing hug whilst Mickey stood by and stared, catching the blanket as it fell from her and leaving her vulnerable.

Rose cried, uncontrollably and hysterically, so hard that her mum wondered whether she could breath right, her tears so many that they soaked right through her jacket to the skin. She hadn't really known what to expect, having received a phone call, half hysterical daughter and half calm nurse telling her that it would be wise if she came to the hospital.

It had to be bad, she had never seen rose like this. So broken.

She loosened her hold as Mickey draped the blanket around her, but there was enough time to look her over, at the same person Rose had seen staring back at her from the window's reflection.

"Oh, Rose." Her mother gasped, "What happened."

But Rose could only shake her head and take the support given to her when Mickey held her, his jacket cool and smooth beneath her cheek, so fresh against her face.

"Come on, lets get inside." Her mum took her by the arm and with considerable help and effort they made it back to the hospital. Finding somewhere quite was hard though, it was a Friday night after all, but eventually they found a near deserted corridor lined with chairs more comfortable than those in the reception, and there she sat and told them everything.

How after they had left her mums flat they took the main road down to the park, and Rose had had to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him, about stopping to buy an ice cream from the van and having to eat it in the shade before it melted, about the stories he'd told her and where he was going to take her next.

She told them about how she looked around and suddenly he wasn't there, that he was in the road, about how it was like watching a film, so slowly that it was almost running backwards. Her heart aching when she told them how he looked at her, eyes apologizing because he knew he didn't have time to get out of the way, and the terrifying noise that followed, a thousand shards of glass raining like crystal from the sky.

She told them how he kissed her and her mum pressed her arm a little tighter, an odd mewing sound coming from her throat as she watched Rose try to talk, to tell them what he'd said.

Eventually there was no chance of getting more out of her, so instead her mum held her, and Mickey's hand joined hers on her back, offering his silent support, their eyes meeting over Rose's shoulder, unable to say a word.

It was incomprehensible.

He was the Doctor. Her Doctor

The man who went swanning off around the galaxy with such little care, dragging Rose behind him. He took on monsters and demons, hell beasts and hounds, he could talk his way out of any situation and failing that he would fight.

And he never once broke his promise. To bring her home safely. She would always arrive fresh and happy, excitement and enthusiasm brimming from her very being as she regaled them with stories of his heroics and daring.

But this….it was mundane, so utterly pointless, for this man of all men to be laid down in such a common way seemed almost blasphemous, an insult to the universe and all the lives he'd saved.

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They told her it would be a few more hours yet, and no matter how much she asked, pleaded and begged they would not give her any indication of how he was. Which ultimately, thought Rose, was a bad sign. She'd always seen it on TV shows where the doctor would say that the surgery was going well or give them an encouraging smile, but not for her. Not this time.

So they waited, her, her mum and Mickey. Occasionally standing to stretch their tired legs or rearrange themselves into a more comfortable position, every now and then one of them would take the almost required trip down the corridor the coffee machine that stood at the end, its half light casting pale shadows across their faces. Some time in the early hours Rose managed to get some sleep, curled up with her legs over Mickey's lap and her head on her mum's shoulder she fell into a twitchy slumber, far from peaceful. Still, the others said nothing.

And when first light broke, she was awake and standing outside the doors again, vainly hoping that the man would come by so she could tell him how sorry she was. But he didn't come.

It was roughly twelve hours since Rose had stepped foot in the hospital when the surgeon sought them out, pacing down the corridor with practiced ease until he stood before them, his face holding nothing for them.

He told them he had done all he could, that it went as well as can be, but he stressed at them about raising hopes. He was now in the long and fraught twenty four hour period.

But all Rose cared about was could she see him.

The surgeon looked almost pained for a moment then nodded once, indicating that they should follow him.

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Nothing.

Nothing in the world can prepare you a sight such at this. Rose's step falters at the doorway, eyes wide as she took in the room. Behind her she could hear both her mum and Mickey gasp, instinctively knew that her mum had raised her hand to her face like those at the road side had done.

With a hesitant step she entered. The light was dim, and she was glad for that, for it took the glare away from such blatant hostility. Wires and tubes and needles, flashing lights and blinking lights, blips and beeps and the soft hiss and click of a respirator.

She wanted to turn. She didn't want to see him like this. This was worse than on the road.

But she couldn't. She wouldn't do that to him. Instead she approached the bed, eyes following the lines of unnatural tubes, watching as his chest rose and fell with each artificial breath.

A sob caught in her throat and she clung to the side of the bed.

She wanted to take him away, to heal his wounds with kisses and words, to hold him and soothe his pain.

He should never have been here. Not here, in London, in an ordinary hospital.

Tentatively she reach out, fingers shaking, to touch the back of his hand, a small patch of skin that wasn't bandaged or pierced. He was cold.

She moved further up the bed, hand hovering near his face before gently pushing his hair back, her touch shaking madly.

She whispered his name, as though it were some sort of spell that would awaken him, make him sit up and shrug off the medical restraints. And in her mind he would smile at her, tell her it was a joke, an experiment, anything, nothing, that it didn't matter and where did she want to go next.

But he didn't wake, eyes remained closed.


	3. Chapter 3

Rose stared down the bed at where her hand was loosely curled around his, her head resting against his arm.

It had been three days.

Three unimaginably long, agonising days. She'd barely slept except for what snatched moments she could glean while her head lay near his. Food was only eaten when it was brought to her. Her mother had persuaded her to change, to stow away her old clothes in a bag that she kept beneath the bed. She couldn't throw them out, just in case.

A couple had come by yesterday, to stand at the end of his bed and tell Rose to thank him for saving their daughter when he woke up. Rose had been polite and smiled, but she couldn't help but feel resentment even after seeing their obvious remorse.

He breathed on his own now. A nurse had come when Rose was in the shower to remove the hideous machine that kept up an audio reminder of how bad things were. But it was a good sign, she was told, a step forward.

She was a little happier now, able at least to watch him fully, to trace the lines of his face tenderly and places gentle kisses against his cheek while her mum and Mickey talked softly in the background.

Occasionally she would turn from him to talk to the others, but whenever she did, it was always about inconsequential subjects, and her hand never left his.

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It was Tuesday evening when his hand twitched within hers. At first she thought it was her imagination, she stared at it for so long that she thought she must have dreamt it up.

When it happened again she was alert, upright. Sitting on the edge of his bed, hand clasped firmly between hers as they stood around him, breaths held and waiting.

It was still a long time coming, but eventually his eyes flickered and opened and a breath long held was released, a relieved sob echoing in the room as she leaned down, hand against his face, gently stroking his hair.

It took a while for him to realise she was there, and even when he did, he looked at her as though through a fog, eyes clouded, brow marred.

"I'm here." She whispered, pressing a kiss to the back his hand as she gazed at him, giving him time to come round.

He shifted, a look of pain flitted across his face as he did so and instead he lay still, eyes closing for long seconds only to open again and look back up at her, never wavering, as though nothing else in the room mattered.

He made a noise, throat sore from the machine and dry from lack of water.

"Rose." He breathed, as though not believing it were her, that he was alive.

"I'm here." She said again, her voice thick as she looked down at him, hand held tightly within her own.

His eyes drifted close, a content look on his face and she felt him tighten his hold, almost pulling her. She followed, leaning down and placing a feather light kiss to his lips, holding herself there, enjoying the feel of his breath on her face once more, until, almost in perceptively, he kissed her back.

She smiled against his lips and pulled back, watching as he slowly fell asleep again.

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Her mum and Mickey went home shortly after, finally at ease with leaving her there alone so they could spend time sorting things out and getting some much needed rest.

Rose meanwhile sat patiently at his bedside, eyes trained on his face so that when he woke up again she was right there with him.

A nurse came by to takes obs, she must have been new because Rose could see her frown when she tried to take the Doctors pulse manually, the readouts on the ECGs were manic. She raised her eyebrow but decided not to say anything, she just made a note in the margin on her chart and asked Rose if she needed anything. Rose declined.

"You're really puzzling them here." She said softly, turning his hand over so she could thread her fingers between his. "I'm not sure they know what to make of you."

"I'm not sure I know what to make of you." She whispered sadly.

She had cried and ranted at length to Mickey and her mum, demanding answers that they could never give her, platitudes that never satisfied. And as much as she loved him, her whole body aching for him to be well, to open his eyes and flash her a smile. She couldn't help but feel betrayed. He had lied, and not even a small lie. Telling her they had time, that he had time, maybe a hundred years to spare. But he'd known…that after this, it was over.

He didn't want her to worry. Such compassion from a man who claims not to fully comprehend human emotions. She understood him, could see why he had lied and at some points in the night, when she leaned over him to place a kiss on his hair, his cheek, she forgave him.

But it still hurt. She had only one life, to live with him, running from the same demons as him, but she had never held herself in false regard. Despite having only one life she still ran with him, hands held tightly between them, all smiles and laughter despite the impending doom.

Maybe he was fooling himself. By telling her, by reinforcing it enough, he could hope it to be true.

Maybe he was living up to an image, as an immortal god that lives forever.

Maybe he was afraid.

She would ask him, and maybe she would not like the answer. But she would ask all the same, how he could lie so easily to her….

The sheets moved as he stirred, pain etching his face as a hand went to where his stomach was a mess of scars and stitches.

Rose was out of the chair in a second, hand reaching automatically to pull his away, to prevent him from hurting himself.

"Doctor." She spoke clearly, hoping he could hear her through the haze of anaesthesia and painkillers. His movements stilled as he worked out on his own what caused pain, his breathing easier, calmer. She watched him for a few minutes until she was almost convinced that he was sleeping again.

His eyes drifted open, squinting slightly against the glare of the strip light, waiting to adjust.

"Hey." She smiled, pulling one knee up to sit on the bed, her hand laying gently on his chest, feeling the slow and steady beats beneath her palm, and the way he struggle for a moment to breath. "Just relax, you're okay." She said softly, moving her hand rest against his neck, his skin warm and alive under her hand.

She watched as he worked his mouth, wetting his dry lips before he spoke, and then it was like before.

"What happened." Just saying those two words left him a little breathless and it pained Rose so completely to see her Doctor suffer. She turned her head a little so he couldn't see her eyes, couldn't read the thoughts that ran through her mind. He was supposed to be strong, invincible.

She should have taken them to the other park

"You were hit by a car." She said softly, "You saved a little girls life." With this she smiles faintly, letting him know just how proud of him she was.

She watched as a flicker of recognition flashed across his face, his hand involuntarily twitching where she still held him, fingers laced.

"You were so…" Rose felt her breath catch in her throat as he focused his gaze in her, much stronger than before, a look of sudden understanding and comprehension, slowly, so slow she could almost see the memory playing in his mind, he raised his hand, placing his fingers against his lips, a soft touch with a far away look, and she stroked his arm as he remembered, a nervous feeling curling in her stomach.

"Rose" her name was spoken again, just barely, merely a cadence of breath whilst his mind wandered, back up the road to where the sun shone and his body was on fire, and all at once she both soothed him and fanned the flames.

He looked at her now, his sudden furious gaze lost to one of sadness and guilt.

"You were dying." She whispered brokenly.

He looked at her then with such sorrow and guilt, and pain and regret that could break anyone's heart. "I'm sorry." He mouthed the words, unable to speak them properly, his gaze locked with hers. "I'm sorry."

He reached for the hand that lay near his face, held onto it as best he could with all the strength he had, feeling her smooth skin against his own as she lifted a thumb to stroke his cheek. He was still for a moment, a quick frown passed across his face and then it was gone. He mumbled something into the air that she couldn't hear, making her lean down so she could catch it, brushing cheek to cheek, a simple touch that made Rose sigh quietly and close her eyes.

He was back.

"I meant it." He whispered, the air vibrating with meaning. He didn't need to clarify, Rose had no doubt what he was talking about, but all the same, nothing could stop the guilty rush of emotion, of unmanned desire when he pressed a kiss to the side of her face, hot breath swirling against her neck as he spoke, the sound completely lost, but she could feel the pattern of his lips against her skin.

I love you.

She was undone, so high and yet completely surrounded. She took the last few inches to bury her face against his shoulder, breathing him in as his hands went to her hair, trembling as they did when they first kissed.

A first kiss. The realisation caused a burst of warmth within her chest. First kisses are only first kisses when there are ones to follow.

She smiled against him, at the point where jaw meets neck and she felt him tremble all the more, his hands sliding to her arms as she raised herself to meet his lips, so soft and delicate, almost shy. For a moment the merely brushed before mouths parted finding each other and holding, for an eternity. She moved, and took control, she gently ran her tongue against his lip causing him sigh, his body relaxing further into the bed before teeth crazed in his wake, sending a jolt through his worn soul. He sighed her name against her lips as if in prayer, eyes closed and asking for more. She smiled again, matching him before capturing him in a searing, unending kiss, full of fire and promise and pain and tears, and he seemed to gain strength from it, pushing back against her, seeking his fill and enjoying the growl that arose from her throat. They broke away quickly, both realising their desire would not see light here.

Not right now.

He watched as she drew her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering if his were just as pink and glistening as hers, and he looked up at her with awe. He reached up, not quite touching her face, fingertips just brushing the end of her hair as if to go any further would burn him. He shook his head in wonder, the movement causing him pain but not enough to dispel his ardent curiosity.

"You still want me?" he asked, his voice quiet but awed, as though not daring to believe in the vision before him.

Rose smiled, an honest, open smile and she felt better for it. She took his hand where it hovered near her face, pressing it flush against her cheek. She turned into it, eyes closed. "Of course I do."


	4. Chapter 4

She had the dreams all the time now, the horrifying, gut wrenching, heart breaking dreams that continued to haunt her long after she had woken.

Dreams of him, of him falling, reaching for her, his blood spilling on the ground, the echo of his voice ringing in her ears as he called out to her. But she was always too far away, just a second too late. And in the dreams all she could do was hold him, to brush his hair back from his face and place gentle kisses to wherever she could reach whilst slowly, inevitably, he faded from her.

She couldn't ever remember being so scared in her dreams, not even when she was young and childish nightmares caused her to seek out comfort in her mother's bed. Because this could be something real, and very nearly was.

And she would awaken from such dreams, tears of heartache drying on her cheeks. Looking at the clock she would realise that she had slept barely a few hours and it would be a figurative age until Mickey would give her a lift to the hospital where she would spend the entire day at his bedside.

He would usually be asleep. Something that worried the nurses but held a slight comfort for Rose. He slept all the time, barely waking in the time she spent with him. It was odd to see him sleep so much, having spent so much time with him and coming to the conclusion that it must be part of his genetics that meant he didn't require as much rest as humans.

But this sleep was healthy. The staff at the hospital where perplexed, his ability to heal so quickly left them looking for answers, a curiosity that worried Rose and feared that maybe they would ask to look at him closely when he was better. But it was only a slight worry. Gone were the days of carting people off to study for scientific purposes, with not a thought for the test subject. But she could only hold off their questions for so long.

She had already planned with him to take him back to the TARDIS when he was able. They would tell the hospital that he was being transferred to a private clinic. At least back in his ship he would be whole again much sooner. And that's all that she wanted, her beautiful Doctor, alive and well and so full of life.

She went to see him, taking a couple of newspapers and a book so she could read to him, although she would often find that after a few minutes the small four bed ward had usually quieted and the other occupants of the room listened to her as well. It made her a little happier, giving these people something too, people, she noticed, that hadn't received visitors for many days.

Mickey came into the hospital with her this time, not having to work today, and saw she was seated comfortably before going off to the machine to buy them some coffee. And when he returned they talked a little for a while, their voices hushed in the sterile air, the curtain drawn slightly as though it would block out any of their conversation. He sat with her while she read to him, and when the nurses and doctors stood by his bed and took readings and monitored them on their charts. At midday he left the hospital to buy them lunch and they both sat in the cafeteria savouring the summer sun that filtered through the windows.

He was too good to her, she decided, especially after what he had done to her. Left him without so much as a backward glance and walked into a life where anything could have happened. No goodbye.

And yet he still sat with her, always there with a comforting hand or a well chosen word. He was no longer the jealous ex, all hard lines and vicious glares. He was the best friend now, her constant in a terrifying world, someone she could count on to be there when she came home.

And he was there when they went back to him, and smiled knowingly at her when she sat on his bedside, fingers toying aimlessly with his hair as she spoke softly to him, small things, inconsequential things and small pleas to wake up, for her.

And he was there when dark eyes fluttered open and slightly stronger voice declared "Tomorrow." Before sinking back into oblivion. He was there, and he helped her plan.

No, she really didn't deserve him.

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"are you sure he's alright to leave though?" her mum asked, settling a fresh mug of tea down at Mickey's elbow as he stared entranced at the computer screen.

Rose rubbed a hand across her tired face and accepted her mug when it was passed to her. Her mum sat down next to her, folding her feet up on the couch. "He wouldn't have said if he wasn't ready." She said quietly, her own concerns hidden.

Mickey sat at the computer, finalising some details on a plan she though quite possibly illegal. He had managed to procure (though god knows how) an unmarked ambulance, the type often used by private hospitals, and was now going over the finer details of the transfer papers, having spent the last few hours manically researching so that they would look authentic. It only had to fool them at the hospital, once they were away they would be hard pressed to find them if they ever needed to.

They had even managed to get Howard in on the act, her mums 'friend' only too happy to help them out by playing the part of a paramedic.

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The next morning Rose caught the bus to the hospital with her mum whilst Mickey and Howard stayed back, setting things up and waiting for their call. Rose handed the papers over to one of the nurses who raised her eyebrow slightly and told them she would be back soon after getting them authorized and signed for them.

When they reached the ward they were surprised to find the Doctor awake, a slightly malevolent look in his eye and he stared at the machines he was still connected to, absently rubbing the crook of his elbow where a narrow plastic tube had pierced his skin.

He greeted them warmly, even working up the effort to return her mums enthusiastic hug. He held her to him and she smiled at the way he pressed his face to the side of her neck, breathing her in as though to make sure she was definitely real and not some figment of a fevered dream. Apparently happy he let her go, and smiled at the nurse who came back with a copy of the papers, printed and signed, releasing him from their care. He had given her his heartfelt thanks for all they had done for him, and Rose could see, to her amusement, the thinly veiled look of itching curiosity of the nurse's face, knowing that she was burning to ask questions but that it was out of her hands now. And with an air of frustration she set about unleashing him from the machines.

Rose followed the nurse out to give her own thanks, leaving him to change into more suitable attire whilst her mum went down to the reception to make the phone call and wait for the boys.

When she returned she found him half standing, leaning heavily against the bed as he pulled his arm through a sleeve. She smiled at him, a calm, mothering smile as he struggled to do up the buttons. Barely concealing a laugh she went to him, pushing his hands away so he could lean further against the bed whilst she took up the task herself, trying hard to ignore the slowly decreasing expanse of skin, warm beneath her fingers. She looked up at him with a smile she hoped covered her odd sense of nervousness only to be met with a hot stare, his eyes dark and unveiled.

She felt herself pale under his gaze, heart thudding in her chest, blood sluggish in her veins. She forced herself to breath but could not look away, from him, from the undisguised maelstrom capturing her in his eyes. Her hands stopped, two buttons shy from the top and her fingers stilled, pressed lightly to exposed skin, the odd staccato beat of his hearts thrumming from his body into hers. She didn't know how she was not burning, his gaze enough to set anybody aflame and it had certainly stirred something within her, fanning the flames of something indescribable that curled hot and heavy in her belly, something which twitched and flared as she watched his gaze flicker down, settling on her lips for the briefest of seconds before returning once more to her eyes.

For an indescribable moment they stood like that, suspended in time, hung in each others dreams, and at the moment he considered, had leaned just a fraction of an inch, Rose's mobile had burst painfully into light, vibrating and ringing shrilly in her jacket pocket.

She jumped, pulling her hands away to scrabble at her coat and pull out the offending item, her gaze now fixed irritably on the bright screen. She listened for a few moments and said a few terse words before hanging up. She stood for a while, her thumb still on the 'end' button and gazing unseeing at the screen before she looked up, a resigned and almost apologetic look on her face. But he just smiled softly at her and allowed her to finish doing up he buttons, feeling slightly chagrined when she ordered him back into bed and wait until the orderlies came for him. It wouldn't do for him to be seen walking around when barely two weeks ago he'd been of life support. He just grinned at her.

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Getting him home was easy, the hard part was getting him out of the bloody ambulance and into the TARDIS. It was a strange sort of irony, that his ship could fit a thousand rooms in it, but the door couldn't open fully to allow a thin gurney through. He hadn't minded though, just took the opportunity to 'stretch his legs' a bit whilst leaning heavily on Howard and Mickey as Rose led them through the darkening tunnels to the 'sick bay' as she had dubbed it, much to the Doctors distress.

They helped him onto the bed and set to flipping switches and setting dials as the Doctor ordered, still plainly weak but with a more content look on his face, a small smile playing on the edge of his lips to be back with his ship.

"Rose." He called gently, beckoning her over from where she was showing Mickey how to check the levels on a small screen. She patted him reassuringly on the shoulder and left him with a perplexed look on his face as he tried to figure out what he was doing and whether his actions could potentially kill the Doctor.

Rose approached the bed and lifted one leg up to perch on the edge, hands pulling the soft blanket further up his chest.

"Rose." He said again, voice soft as he caught her hand with his, her skin so warm against him. His eyes flickered down to watch the way her fingers laced with his, tightening ever so slightly, a reassurance for her, that he was still here, still real. He held her grip firmly and looked up at her, at her tense face, eyes betraying her concern for him. "Rose,…i…" he faltered as he tried to find a way to explain to her. He frowned gently, looking back down at their touch combined. "Rose, whatever happens to me now…I don't want you to worry." He said quietly, aware of the others in the room, of Jackie slapping Howard's hand away from potentially life threatening piece of equipment. He could feel her tense, couls see out the corner of his eye the way her body set.

"Doctor?" her voice wavered.

"I'm just going to go to sleep Rose." He explained, daring to look at her. She shouldn't have to worry about him, shouldn't have had to live the last two weeks in fear of his life slipping from her. "I don't know how long for." He said, hoping that the small smile he had mustered up for her was calming the doubts he could see so plainly in her eyes. "But I need to….there's still so much damage."

"You hurt?" She breathed.

He opened his mouth to placate her, to tell her he was fine. But he'd lied to her enough. "Yes." He said softly, the admission seeming to bring the aches of his body to the forefront of his mind. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the sensation wash over him to be replaced by a gentler touch, of fingertips barely touching, tracing the curve of his cheek. Unreservedly he turned into it, breath caught in his throat at the heat of her skin, spreading it's warmth and soothing the ache in his mind. He allowed her to touch him, to feel the way she felt about him poured into such a simple gesture.

"What can I do." She whispered, her voice closer, breath ghosting over his face as he let his head fall back against the pillow allowing them to lock gazes unguardedly.

His Rose. The Gods must have been looking out for him the day he ran into her.

"Stay with me."

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"here you are." Jackie said, handing a bright pink mug to rose, "Though it'd probably be cold now, took me forever to find my way back." She said, taking a sip from her own drink.

Rose took her mug ans set it down carefully on the side of the bed, hlding it firmly between her hands so that she could soak up it's warmth

"Where's Mickey and Howard?" she asked.

Jackie shrugged and leaned against the foot of the bed. "Dunno, said they were going to the shops about an hour ago, havn't seen them since, though that's not surprising, not in this place." She flicked her gaze to the ceiling to render her point.

Rose smirked into her mug as she drank from it. "Seems to be taking it well." She said quietly, looking up at her mum's slightly puzzled face. "Howard."

"Oh, well, yeah I suppose, as much as anyone else could."

"You should have seen Mickey when this all started." Rose quipped, "Like a frightened puppy, he was actually clinging to me." She shook her head and smiled at the memory.


End file.
